


Reaching For Warmth

by Fiacre



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Bodyguard Romance, Depression, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Romance, bosmer oc - Freeform, mentions of torture, sil's an eye of the queen assigned to look after naemon, silrandir is not the vestige, slight D/s, sort of, that au where the vestige saves naemon from coldharbour, vague references to manipulation by a significant other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiacre/pseuds/Fiacre
Summary: Sometimes, it all felt so real, like his torment could be – was – truly over. And other times his doubt was overwhelming and in his certainty that all of this was merely a ploy he found himself reliving the torture in his own mind.
The Vestige may have saved Naemon from Coldharbour, but he's a long way from recovering.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaynglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaynglory/gifts).



Silrandir was lounging around in front of the Prince's bedroom doors, scribbling stick figures onto a piece of parchment, when he heard Naemon out right howl. He threw the door open and was halfway through Naemon's room with a dagger in hand, ready to bring down bloody murder on whoever was hurting the Prince when his brain engaged and he noticed that there was no shadowy figure leaning over Naemon or really anything at all.

Silrandir was lounging around just outside the Prince's bedroom, scribbling stick figures onto a piece of parchment; if he squinted, he could almost see some progress. He yawned. It was nearly time for him to go to sleep and it had been a slow night – but that was something to be grateful for. He vastly preferred the Prince sleeping through the night without interruptions. He was just about to finish up the last sketch, a rather misshapen profile, when he heard a despairing wail from the bedroom behind him. He scrambled to his feet, tugged parchment and charcoal away and rushed into Naemon's room.

Naemon was sitting on his bed, the expansive sheets tangled around him as he gasped for air. 

“Your Highness--”, Silrandir called out and Naemon let out the most pitiful cry. Naemon's panic attacks and nightmares were familiar by now, but this, this looked, sounded much worse than the usual – the Prince's gasping was getting worryingly close to outright hyperventilating and his suffering made Silrandir's heart twist into knots. 

“Naemon – please, you have to breathe slowly--”, Silrandir said and tried to keep his own encroaching panic out of his voice. He was an Eye of the Queen, he wasn't about to start losing it this easily. He knelt on the bed and carefully placed a hand on Naemon's shoulder. The Prince still had trouble breathing, but at least now most of his attention seemed to be focused on Silrandir.

“Please”, he said again. “Like me. See? In and out. In and out.” He demonstrated it between sentences, breathing deeply and slowly and kept going as Naemon tried to copy him and even after their breathing was matched, until Naemon slumped down and towards him.

Silrandir crawled closer and put an arm around Naemon to steady him. Naemon's shoulders started to shake and it took Silrandir a moment to figure out that the Prince was crying.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Your Highness”, he said, as gently as he could and pulled Naemon's head against his chest. Naemon pressed his face against him even as he was wracked by sobs and Silrandir started rubbing his back while rocking back and forth. 

“It's all right”, he murmured as he found one of Naemon's hands with his free one and squeezed. “You're safe, it's okay.”

It was a while before Naemon's crying subsided and even then Naemon kept clinging to him. Silrandir let him; he was hardly in a hurry. He hummed softly in a way that he hoped was soothing as he continued his rocking motions. 

Eventually he noticed that Naemon had dozed off and allowed himself to lean back against one of the large pillows. The hand that had been rubbing Naemon's back was at the tips of Naemon's hair now and he absent-mindedly played with the soft locks. 

Silrandir only realized he'd fallen asleep himself when he woke to Naemon shifting in his arms, quiet whimpers escaping him. He moved a hand back onto Naemon's back and hummed again, but their current position – Naemon lying half on top of him – made rocking difficult. It seemed to be enough though to chase the nightmare away again, at least for now.

Silrandir wondered what Naemon was dreaming about. He didn't know what exactly had happened at the orrery in Elden Root, though he figured that it can't have been pleasant considering Naemon had  _ died _ there. Had he been aware as a Lich, the Naemon Silrandir now held in his arms somewhere  inside the monster Shalanwe had described fighting? She had been adamant then that the Lich hadn't really been Naemon, that the traitor Pelidil had brought back merely a vengeful Shade. Or perhaps it was about Coldharbour? Silrandir shuddered. He hadn't been there for the fight to end the Planemeld, but he'd heard tales about it and the horrors Molag Bal and his servants wrought upon the mortals unfortunate enough to end up in his domain. 

Naemon's Shade had been dead for months when Shalanwe had returned from Coldharbour with the Prince. Silrandir's stomach turned just imagining what that would have been like and his grip around Naemon tightened.

He hadn't known the Prince for all that long – he'd been an Eye for years, but hadn't spent much time at court. Perhaps that was one reason why he'd been chosen as the Prince's new bodyguard; or perhaps the Queen had simply decided that his service record spoke for itself.

Whatever it was, in the weeks he had been responsible for Naemon's safety he had developed... some measure of affection for his Prince. He appreciated Naemon's dry wit and, as much as he admired the Queen's idealism, his cynicism. He was endeared by the sound of Naemon's all too rare genuine laughter and the way he flushed to the tip of his ears when Silrandir found just the right compliment to give.

Naemon mumbled something unintelligible and Silrandir looked down at him, relieved to see that Naemon's features were still smoothed out, the usually ever present frown gone. He looked peaceful like this, as if nothing had happened. Silrandir's back was starting to hurt from the awkward position, but he didn't want to risk waking Naemon up.

The Prince mumbled again and then one of his ears twitched and Silrandir's heart fluttered. A man with Naemon's disposition should not be allowed to be so… so adorable. His gaze lingered on Naemon's ears and he once again noticed how endearingly large they were, even for an Altmer; and with everything he knew about Altmer he was almost certain that they had to be terribly sensitive...

He closed his eyes and settled back into the pillow, as much as he could. No. This was not the time to entertain such thoughts – if, indeed, there was ever a time for them at all – not when Naemon was so vulnerable.

He had dozed off again and woke up to Naemon pulling out of Silrandir's embrace to sit up. Silrandir tried to give him his best roguish smile, but suspected that it mostly came out looking awkward; that was certainly how he felt.

“Good morning, Your Highness”, he said. 

Naemon squinted at him, clearly not entirely awake yet. “Why are you in my-- oh.”

Silrandir licked his lips. “Are you… Do you feel better now, Your Highness?” Knowing Naemon, his Prince probably didn't want to talk about it, but he  _ was _ responsible for Naemon's well being, after all.

“I am perfectly fine”, Naemon said and it sounded almost convincing. It had to be enough.

“Very well, Your Highness”, he said and smiled again. “If I may…?”

Naemon stared at him expectantly and didn't move, an odd look in his eyes. Silrandir blinked. “As much as I enjoy your company, Your Highness, my back has gotten rather stiff.”

For a fraction of a second he could see surprise on Naemon's face, and almost expected Naemon to say… something, Silrandir wasn't sure what, but then he pulled away and gave Silrandir the space he needed to crawl off the bed. 

He stretched his back and rolled his shoulders, groaning quietly at the burning ache that had settled in over the hours he'd held Naemon. 

“You--”, Naemon started, but then seemed to change his mind yet again. “You are dismissed.”

Silrandir bowed. “Of course, Your Highness. If there is anything you need...”

“I will call for you, yes, yes.” 

Silrandir quickly left the room, not wanting to provoke Naemon's ire.

 

It was odd. Naemon had clearly been expecting something, but what? Silrandir gnawed on his lower lip. He had a suspicion, but… no. Surely not. Naemon was a prince--

Perhaps it wasn't what he thought at all and he was being creepy. Or perhaps he'd misread and Naemon did want him-- No. That was just wishful thinking and besides, even if Naemon did, making advances at such a time would have been inappropriate to say the least.

And yet Silrandir couldn't stop thinking about it, about how soft his lips would feel – how soft his hair had been – what noises he might make if Silrandir nibbled on those sensitive ears just right…

Silrandir groaned in disgust. He wasn't a youth daydreaming about his first love any more, he was an Eye of the Queen, tasked with keeping her brother safe, not thinking about kissing him. 

But, gods, how he wanted to. 

 

Naemon sobbed into one of his pillows, sounds muffled by the fabric. He knew, if he just called for him, Silrandir would come in a heartbeat and hold him again. But he couldn't. He was Prince of the Aldmeri Dominion. He wouldn't ask to be held and rocked to chase the memories away as if he was a little child. 

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself as more shivers wracked him. He was so cold, but he knew it couldn't be; there was a fire burning, warming up the room, and he was wrapped into a thick blanket too. But ever since Coldharbour he'd always been a little cold.

Coldharbour.

He sobbed again.

He didn't want to remember it any more, the freezing cold and the pain and the constant sensation of not getting enough air, suffocating over and over and over with no end...

But there had been an end. There had been, and he was back home, safe and sound. 

Everything was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was--

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe and it was cold, so cold and any moment the pain would come back and his rescue had just been a dream, another one of Molag Bal's cruelties, giving him hope just to tear it away again and he couldn't, he couldn't, he  _ couldn't _ \--

“Your Highness? Your Highness-- Naemon, Naemon, please, listen to me,  _ Naemon _ \--”

Naemon twisted away when Silrandir reached for him and choked out desperate pleas to stop, not conscious of anything but his all encompassing fear.

“Naemon”, Silrandir said again. “Naemon, please.  _ Please _ . It's  _ me _ . No one is-- No one is hurting you, Your Highness, please listen to me--”

Something about Silrandir's tone got through the fog on Naemon's mind and he stilled, allowing Silrandir to reach out again, however tentatively. 

Silrandir gently touched his shoulder and rubbed his thumb over it in small circles.

“Do you recognize me?”, he asked. Naemon nodded slowly.

 

“Sil… randir”, he whispered. Silrandir smiled in relief.

 

“Do you want me to hold you again?”, he said, still gently rubbing Naemon’s shoulder. Naemon nodded again. Silrandir crawled onto the bed and rearranged them so he was sitting, leaning against one of the pillows again, and Naemon was in his arms, chest pressed against his.

“Don't be quiet”, he said and bit back a please at the end. 

“Of course, Your Highness”, Silrandir said. There was a moment's pause, then Silrandir started singing. It was some Bosmeri song – perhaps a children's lullaby, but in this moment, Naemon didn't care. It served its purpose of distracting him, keeping him from getting lost in his own thoughts again, and he concentrated on Silrandir's voice, on the warmth radiating from him, caught under the blanket. 

He was safe.

 

If Silrandir could have, he would have marched right into Coldharbour and given Molag Bal a taste of his own medicine.

Naemon, praise Y'ffre, had fallen asleep, but Silrandir wasn't quite so lucky. He couldn't get it out if his head – the Prince, twisting in his sheets, staring at him as if Silrandir was some frightening monstrosity and begging him to stop. Stop what? What had that thrice cursed bastard done to Naemon? 

Shalanwe had mentioned something about ice and being unable to breathe; it had sounded awful but Silrandir had a hard time even imagining how it must have actually felt.

Silrandir sighed. He had thought he was getting used to this, but now it seemed like Naemon was just getting worse and worse and he didn't know what to do. If this were an outside threat he could fight it would be one thing, but what could he do against the Prince's own mind playing tricks on him? 

He watched Naemon, whose head was lying on Silrandir's chest, mouth slightly open. He didn't know what to do to help him, but he was certainly not going to stop trying.

 

It was becoming a habit.

Naemon didn't understand – shouldn't he be getting better? And yet, the relief of being free was slowly giving way to the fear that all of this was merely a lie, that Molag Bal was merely toying with him. After all, how likely was it that the very woman who had killed him, who had killed Estre, was going to save him? That she would face the Lord of Brutality – and win? She was skilled, certainly, but to defeat a Daedric Prince, in his own realm no less? Madness.

Sometimes, it all felt so real, like his torment could be –  _ was _ – truly over. And other times his doubt was overwhelming and in his certainty that all of this was merely a ploy he found himself reliving the torture in his own mind.

So he distracted himself, as best he could.

It was the nights that were the worst, when his mind wandered despite his exhaustion. Silrandir, ever dutiful, was ready for his episodes whenever they happened – and despite Naemon's pride, waking up in the Bosmer's arms became a familiar occurrence.

A surprisingly pleasant one, at that.

Estre would disapprove terribly, he was sure. Estre… He tried not to think about her – about her and the Veiled Heritance and their treason; about his own foolishness in going into the orrery and Pelidil, cursed fool, defiling his body and bringing him back as a Lich. He wasn't even sure who to blame for what happened to him; himself, for entering the orrery? For not being good enough to be judged worthy? Estre, for feeding his resentment? Pelidil, for landing him in Coldharbour with his necromancy? What did it matter in the end, when everyone but him was gone?

He missed her. He missed them both, even now. He knew Estre had only used him for her own gain, that had become clear enough by now, and how much could Pelidil have truly loved him and still have done what he did? But they had made him feel wanted then, given him the attention he had always craved. 

And now he was alone.

Of course, there was Ayrenn, but he and his sister hadn't been close in a long time, and he was certain she didn't trust him any more. And why would she? He had betrayed her, after all. There was Silrandir too, but he was one of Ayrenn's agents and hardly doing any of this out of care for Naemon. 

And yet Naemon couldn't help but enjoy the Bosmer's company.

It made him feel safe in a way that nothing else did. Somehow, Silrandir's embrace helped keep the memories at bay and with them his doubt and fear. It let Naemon concentrate on the other's warmth, of the feeling of another body pressed against his. It made him feel cared for, even though he knew that all of this was merely one of Ayrenn's assignments for Silrandir. It let him forget the crushing loneliness, just for a little while.

He shifted in Silrandir's arms and felt the other stir. Silrandir had an exceptionally light sleep, though considering how long he had been one of Ayrenn's spies, perhaps that was only natural.

“Your Highness?”, he murmured, looking at Naemon through his lashes, and for a moment Naemon could have sworn to see affection in his eyes.

“Kiss me”, he said without thinking.

Silrandir blinked and suddenly looked wide awake. “What?”

Naemon licked his lips. “Kiss me”, he said again. He wanted… He wasn't sure what he wanted. To be loved? To be desired? Or merely someone to keep him company, more so than Silrandir already had?

Silrandir shook his head. “No.”

“No”, Naemon repeated numbly. No. Of course. Why would he have expected differently, why--

“Your Highness”, Silrandir said and gently clasped Naemon's head between his hands. “You're not in your right state of mind. Ask me again when you're feeling better, but I won't take advantage.”

Naemon's eye twitched.

He pulled back and rolled himself over onto the other side of the bed, wrapping himself into the sheets as he did so. “Get out.”

“Your Highness--”, Silrandir started, but Naemon did not want to listen.

“Get.  _ Out _ .”

He did.

 

Once night came again he sent Silrandir away, for the first time in weeks, and wept quietly until exhaustion took him and did so the night after and the night after that.

He had been a fool to think there could be anything, that Silrandir could possibly care about him like that. When he had mourned for Estre, Pelidil had –  _ taken advantage _ – no no  _ no _ , had been there for him, had – kept whispering poison into his ear, hat turned him into a lich, had--

Why had he ever wanted to take the crown? What cold comfort it would have been, no matter how bitter a pill it had been to swallow when Ayrenn had snatched it away after all his work.

Had he been King, had the orrery not transformed him into that…  _ thing _ , would he have been alone? He was not Ayrenn. He lacked her charisma. Would he have found anyone like her precious Shalanwe, who looked at her as if she was all the light in the world?

It was a moot point. He wasn't King. He had betrayed his family, had betrayed his sister, and he was lucky enough she had seen it fit to take him back after that.

But he was not a child who did not know what he wanted and he would not be treated as such. Nor was he incapable of recognizing a rejection when he got one. If he was going to be alone, he would bear it, like he had borne everything else.

 

Silrandir found himself once again passing the time by drawing yet more stick figures. He had the feeling that his skills had improved over the recent months, though the figures were still barely recognizable as the Prince.

Oh, Naemon.

Even though he saw him, spoke to him every day, Silrandir missed him terribly. He'd gotten used to their nights together – if one could call them that – and for a while, he could almost let himself believe there was a chance that Naemon would care about him the way he cared about Naemon.

When Naemon had asked for a kiss, Silrandir had wanted nothing more than to obey, but he couldn't. Not at this time, not when Naemon was still so vulnerable… He could never risk hurting his Prince like that.

But Naemon hadn't asked again since. Naemon barely even wanted Silrandir near him any more. Had he said something wrong? Was Naemon embarrassed by what happened? Had he indeed not truly wanted it and now regretted asking?

Silrandir wished he could talk about it, but Naemon wasn't the most approachable person on his best days and even if, Silrandir doubted he had the courage to ask.

He sighed and tried to concentrate on his parchment. There was nothing he could do other than wait and hope that Naemon would change his mind and want him at his side again, in whichever way the Prince decided on.

“...Really?” he said, staring at the hearts he'd drawn around the barely recognizable stick figure of Naemon smiling. He groaned, frustrated with himself, and let his head fall back against the wall.

 

“Kiss me”, Naemon said.

Silrandir smiled. “As you wish, Your Highness”, he murmured and leaned in to capture Naemon's lips with his. They were surprisingly soft and the kiss was achingly tender. Naemon shifted and edged upwards until he was sitting in Silrandir's lap, back arched as he tilted his head down to make up for their height difference.

He could feel Silrandir's growing excitement beneath him and rolled his hips to draw a satisfying gasp from him, then did it again and Silrandir's hands moved from his hips to his backside to pull Naemon flush against himself. Naemon sighed in pleasure. Bosmer were so very small, Silrandir no exception, he didn't even reach Naemon's chin – but this certainly answered whether they were small  _ everywhere _ . How...  _ pleasant _ .

Silrandir started kissing along his jaw down to his collarbone where he sucked lightly; Naemon gasped and craned his neck to the side to give better access. He kept shifting against Silrandir, teasing, and imagined what it would be like.

Would Silrandir stay this gentle? Or would it be rough and fast? Would they stay like this, Naemon riding him? Or perhaps he should lie back against the pillows and demand Silrandir service him. He moaned as Silrandir sucked another love bite into his collarbone. 

He really couldn't quite decide-- Silrandir pulled him into another kiss, this one more demanding than the last and Naemon melted into the touch. “Take me”, he gasped as they parted again and almost winced at how ridiculous that sounded – and how needy his voice was – but right now, he didn't care for proper conduct. 

Besides, he was being intimate with a Bosmer; that fact alone would have been enough to destroy any chance at proper conduct he might have had in the eyes of most of his peers that might have cared.

Silrandir's hands moved up to his waist and he turned the both of them over, rearranging them until Naemon was comfortably lying on the pile of pillows. He grabbed one of the laces keeping Naemon's night gown together with his teeth and pulled, and oh,  _ Auri-el _ , that was-- Naemon moaned again, eyes fluttering shut as he gave himself over to the sensations. 

It was good, so good, Silrandir's lips on his chest, on his-- he arched his back with a gasp and one of his hands found its way into Silrandir's hair to press him closer.

Silrandir chuckled, batted him away and pulled back instead then pushed both of Naemon's hands back onto the bed above his head. “Keep them there”, he said, his pupils so wide there was just a sliver of green left visible. Naemon shivered.

Oh.

Oh, yes.

His fingers clawed into one of the pillows and his legs spread wider of their own accord. His breathing was heavy now, interspersed with heady whimpers as Silrandir continued his exploration down Naemon's body, seemingly determined to find every sensitive spot. 

He mouthed his way along Naemon's inner thigh, carefully avoiding his length and Naemon whined, tempted to move his hands, but then Silrandir chose that moment to lift his head and fix Naemon with a stern gaze. “Be good”, he said, voice deep and husky and Naemon groaned.

“Please”, he said breathlessly, shivering. It was ridiculous. How was he already so undone?

Silrandir cocked his head and smiled. “Please what?”, he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Touch my--”, Naemon swallowed. Really? Now he was getting shy? “Touch my cock.”

Silrandir grinned. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

He leaned in again and wrapped his lips around Naemon and oh--  _ oh _ \-- that was--

If the way Silrandir was taking him down his throat was anything to go by, he was definitely not new to this. Then he pulled up again and swirled his tongue around Naemon's tip, and it took all of Naemon's willpower to keep his hands above his head instead of grabbing Silrandir's hair. 

His hips thrust upwards into Silrandir's mouth and the Bosmer groaned – vibrations causing another  lightning bolt of pleasure to shoot through Naemon – and grabbed his hips, pressing them forcefully into the mattress. 

Gods-- Gods, he was so close already, toes curling, just a little more--

He awoke with a start.

“W-- What…?”. He groaned, disoriented and groggy. 

He was in his bed? That was right. But his gown was still tightly laced together, his arousal pressing insistently against his underpants and Silrandir was nowhere to be found.

A dream, it dawned on him. It had all just been a dream.

This was ridiculous.  _ He _ was ridiculous. What was he? A fifteen year old having his first crush? 

He tossed himself over onto his other side, resolving to go back to sleep, until his hand, unbidden, found its way to his still throbbing length. He got himself off quickly, fast, sharp strokes that were almost too much, just this side of still pleasurable, images of Silrandir's mouth on his cock going through his mind, and came crying out Silrandir's name, muffled by the pillow.

 

Naemon couldn't get the dream out of his head. It was embarrassing how much he craved the company of a mere soldier. He was a Prince! An Altmer of highest standing, the product of centuries of careful breeding, he--

Couldn't stop thinking about Silrandir's smile and the feeling of his arms around Naemon, the way he had greeted Naemon every morning, how he'd always been there when the memories became too much; couldn't stop wondering how Silrandir's lips on his might feel, if he'd be as domineering as he was in the dream, Silrandir's hands on him, Silrandir's mouth on him, Silrandir--

He groaned and forced himself to imagine a Goblin naked instead before he got too carried away. 

He had to get out of his chambers. He'd been loathe to leave them most of the time, preferring solitude and the books he'd sent for or Silrandir's company to the rest of the palace. Ayrenn, ever the grander person, had been merciful and ensured no one who had been at the orrery talked about what had really happened; as far as the people knew, he was Ayrenn's loyal brother who had died heroically defending Ayrenn when the orrery malfunctioned during the ceremony. 

He still couldn't stand to be around any of them and least of all Ayrenn herself. She'd visited him, even asked about his well being – an awkward attempt at reconciliation that he had a hard time believing was genuine after what he had done. 

He'd tried, tried so hard to do his duty, tried so hard to be good, but she'd taken the only person who had ever seen him for himself, cared about who he was--

But Estre had never really cared, had she? Estre had only ever been using him, the next best thing to being able to marry the heiress to the throne herself, a means to an end. 

He'd only ever been Ayrenn's shadow, and even Ayrenn had abandoned him and left him to the wolves, left him scrambling to appease them in the wake of her brazen defiance of their people's tradition. And then, after all the work, the years spent studying, she'd come back to snatch away a crown she had never done anything for.

And he was starting  _ again _ . Thoughts going in a circle, tearing open the same wounds, reminding him of the same regrets again and again and again and again.

He wanted to roll over and hide under his blanket, the way he had as a child until Ayrenn comforted him. But he was not a child any more and Ayrenn would not come running to soothe his fears and worries. 

He had to get out of his room and do  _ something _ , whatever it was, to keep his mind from tearing itself to shreds. Getting up was hard, shrugging off his night gown and slipping into his robes was even harder. It was shameful how even the most simple tasks exhausted him now, like he was some fat cat lord who did nothing but laze around all day. 

He tied his hair back in a loose bun, just enough to keep himself from looking scandalously undone. The gardens perhaps? He could read a book while basking in the sun for once – the thought did little to make him sound less like a cat. But there was not much for him to keep busy with these days, now that he didn't get any tasks from Ayrenn any more. 

He stepped out of his bedroom and the first thing he saw was Silrandir, curled up on a chair with parchment and charcoal. Was he writing something? Naemon was almost curious enough to ask when he remembered the dream and felt the blood shoot into his head, suddenly flustered and embarrassed again.

Silrandir, for his part, jumped to attention the very same moment, putting the parchment face down on the chair as he bowed. “Your Highness! How can I serve you?”

“Send for someone else to attend me. I shall be in the palace gardens”, he said, pushing away thoughts of last night, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders squared.

Silrandir stared at him as if he'd just kicked a puppy.

He hesitated, unsure, almost wanted to apologize even though he didn't even know what for if it would wipe that look from Silrandir's face, but… No. No, he couldn't… “I gave an order”, he said instead.

Silrandir's lips trembled. “Your-- Your Highness, if I've done something to offend you--”

He sounded hurt and confused and Naemon wanted to reach out, but something held him back.  _ Had _ Silrandir done something to offend him?

“I am quite capable of taking a rejection without  _ coddling _ , agent”, he started before his thoughts had quite caught up with him. “I need no “another time” to comfort myself with.”

The look on Silrandir's face morphed into confusion. “I… I don't understand, Your Highness. I didn't mean to-- I--” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry”, he whispered. “I just didn't want to-- to risk hurting you, but I-- I did anyway. I'm sorry.” 

Naemon opened his mouth to reply but Silrandir was already leaving, practically running away. Naemon stared after him, understanding dawning on him. What he had dismissed as merely a particularly infuriating attempt to let him down gently had been genuine. Silrandir's offer of another time had been genuine. Silrandir…

His gaze fell on the parchment Silrandir had forgotten on the chair and he stepped over and took it, almost mechanically, just to have something to do. 

It was covered in clumsy, smudged scribbles of people, one elf in particular-- was that him? It had to be. Silrandir was no skilled artist, but the stick figures bore just enough resemblance…

He swallowed. One in particular stuck out. Naemon, smiling brightly, with little hearts drawn around him.    
  
He grasped the back of the chair to steady himself. Was that how Silrandir felt about him? Since when? This entire time, while Naemon had craved for someone to care about him, had Silrandir done just that? Too shy to tell him, too worried he might hurt Naemon to agree to his request.

He sunk down onto the chair. He had to fix this, somehow.

 

Naemon was never going to forgive him.

In all the time Silrandir had guarded and waited on him, Naemon had never asked for another to attend him. Until now.

Silrandir wasn't sure how this had happened, he had tried, tried so hard not to hurt the Prince, but he'd done so anyway and now Naemon was never going to forgive him. He couldn't even stand being around Silrandir any more it seemed – was that why he hadn't wanted to leave his chambers? Oh, Y'ffre, what had he done. He… He had to go and request reassignment from the Queen. Let Naemon have someone new, someone who knew how to help him…

He felt like his heart was going to tear apart.

 

Naemon had put the parchment on his bed and then made his way to the gardens where he stood waiting until the servant Silrandir had sent for him approached him with a bow.

“Your Highness--”, the Altmer started, but Naemon bid him quiet with a gesture. 

“I've changed my mind. I shall return to my quarters; send Silrandir there.”

“I… see”, the man said, confusion and perhaps a note of annoyance in his voice, and bowed again before hurrying to comply with Naemon's orders.

When Naemon arrived back at his bedroom, Silrandir was nowhere to be seen yet. Just as well. He sat down on the expansive mattress and examined the parchment again. He still couldn't really believe it, that this was how Silrandir felt about him, but the evidence was right in front of him.

How could he not have seen? Had Silrandir deliberately hid his feelings – and surely a former spy would be good at such things? Or had Naemon simply been that blind, wallowing in his self pity instead…

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He swallowed.

“Come in.”

Silrandir stepped inside and reluctantly closed the door behind him; his gaze was fixed on the parchment.

“Your Highness”, he choked out, voice shaky. “I-- I can explain--”

Naemon pointed at the drawings. “Is this me?”

Silrandir nodded, a pained look on his face. Naemon wanted to hold him, soothe him, but… 

“Is this how you feel about me?”, he asked and now pointed at the figure with hearts around it specifically.

Silrandir nodded again.

“Say it.”

He had to hear it. He  _ had _ to. 

Silrandir lifted his gaze and looked Naemon straight in the eyes. “I love you”, he whispered and his voice broke on the last word. 

Naemon took a deep breath.

Love. 

“Come here”, he said.

There was an elegance to the way Silrandir moved, even now; the result of years of discipline and training.

“You said I should ask again when I was in a better state of mind. Do you think I am so now?”

Silrandir blinked in confusion and he could see the dawning realization of where this was going and the utter relief that followed play out on Silrandir's face. Naemon had never seen him show his emotions this openly before and there was a vulnerability to it that made Naemon's heart ache. When had he gotten so attached?

“I do, Your Highness.”

“What about you?” 

Silrandir took a moment to consider and Naemon couldn't help but smile a little. “I'm fine, Your Highness.”

Naemon's smile widened.

“Kiss me, then”, he said.

Silrandir did.

 

Naemon awoke with a start. Where-- How…? 

“Oh”, someone whispered just behind him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.” 

He slowly turned to face Silrandir. “Where are you going?”, he asked and tried his best to glare. He suspected he was still too sleepy to succeed. 

Silrandir coughed awkwardly. “...Uh, just a moment, Your Highness.”

Naemon buried his face in the nearest pillow and snorted. True to his word Silrandir returned quickly and Naemon was on him the moment he'd crawled back on the bed. He'd never been this cuddly with Estre, but Estre hadn't much cared for it, anyway. Silrandir on the other hand seemed intent on lavishing Naemon with affection. 

“I love you”, Silrandir mumbled, as if to prove the point, into his hair and Naemon's eyes fluttered shut, content to enjoy the soft kisses Silrandir was giving him now. 

He hadn't said the words back yet – somehow, that was far more difficult than it had any right to be – but he was certain Silrandir knew how he felt about him anyway. 

Silrandir drew him closer and Naemon laid his head on Silrandir's chest, his lovers arms circling around him the way they had during the weeks they'd been together and the weeks before that. Naemon hummed in contentment and started drifting off again; sleep claimed him quickly these days, Silrandir's embrace keeping the nightmares at bay now more than ever. And even when they did return – it was a much less terrifying prospect now that he knew someone was there for him, someone who would pull him back out of his own mind and remind him what was dream and what was reality.

There were still times where he could barely believe he was free or that someone truly, genuinely loved him, and mending his relationship with his sister was no easy task, but none of that seemed as impossible as it once had.

There was a future for him, after all, and it wasn't a road he had to walk alone.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to [vaynglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaynglory/pseuds/Vaynglory) for betareading, emotional support and helping me with my utter inability to plot <3 and i'm also on tumblr [here](http://imperiius.tumblr.com)!


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